The Consequence (The Evolution of Sin 3)

The buzz of Sinclair’s phone disturbed me from my thoughts and I watched distractedly as he answered. My Frenchman never really stopped working, it wasn’t unusual for him to take calls at all times of the day and spend extra hours on the site of his new project. It was no wonder that he and Elena had made such a good pairing when she spent 80 plus hours at the law firm each week. Sinclair was sensitive to my mood and I could sense his apprehension whenever he took a call or came home too late for dinner but there was no reason for it. I enjoyed his work ethic and single-minded intensity; they were two of the qualities that he had applied so ceaselessly to his relationship with me. My showing was in less than a week and though I was close to completion, I still had two pieces to tweak before I felt secure in the collection so I was busy as well, especially with the time we had taken off in Paris.

I was lonely, but it had nothing to with the amount of time I spent with Sinclair. I missed my family with an acuteness that echoed like church bells from my heart throughout my body at every hour of the day. It seemed as though I had been chasing after the dream of a complete and perfect family since I was a child, poor and lonely in a dirty house abandoned by my father, sister and brother, left only with a broken mother and a hostile Elena. But even then, there had always been hope, the belief that sometime in the future we would be reunited and peaceful again.

I’d eradicated that future like a bug beneath my heel.

“Stop with the baseless accusations, Paulson,” Sinclair bit out, standing up abruptly and slamming his hand down on the table.

My head snapped towards him as he began to pace through the small living area of the suite.

“I did no such fucking thing and you know it. We have been business associates for years. I have known about your proclivities and you mine for years. I would have nothing to gain and everything to lose from telling the press--”

He cursed under his breath in French and tugged a hand through his overlong hair. I bit my lip as I watched him, apprehension crawling over my skin like a dozen spiders. Suddenly, he stormed back towards the table and slapped open the paper he had been reading to the society section. I caught a glimpse of the name Paulson and a portrait of both husband and wife before Sinclair’s hand crumpled it up under his fist.

“Believe me, Paulson. I will get to the bottom of this. Give me 48 hours.” He gritted his teeth and hissed an exhale through his clenched teeth. “Fine. 36 hours then.”

He shut off the phone, threw it to the table and watched as it skittered across the glossed surface before falling to the floor.

“Fuck,” he roared, roughly pulling both hands through his hair.

I remained quiet while he reigned in his anger. I’d never seen him so frustrated and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. The relief I felt when he finally turned to me with anguish, and not anger, in his eyes, surprised me.

“Someone leaked the Paulson’s BDSM life-style to the press.”

My mouth fell open in a horrified O.

He nodded and dropped down into his chair with a loud sigh. “He’s blaming my camp and threatening to pull out of the Dogwood Hotels deal. It’s a multi-million dollar contract that I’ve spent two years securing. It means constructing hotels in four countries, including a casino in Vegas, over the next five years.” He closed his eyes. “It would have secured Faire Developments as one of the leading development firms in North America.”

My heart stuttered. “Who do you think could have done something like that?”

“Honestly? Not many people. I want to be furious with Paulson for accusing me of doing something so unscrupulous especially when it’s crippling to me as well but I’m one of only a handful of people who know about what goes on behind closed doors in that house and I can’t blame him for not thinking clearly at a time like this. The man’s entire reputation is built on frankly puritan values. This is devastating for him.”

“And for you,” I reiterated, reaching forward to grab his clenched hands. “What are we going to do?”

A slight smile pulled his lips to the left. “We aren’t going to do anything, my siren. You are going to continue on with your day, spend the morning at our home, work on your art, visit your sister and I promise to be in a better mood when I next see you.”

I pursed my lips but I understood. “Probably not tonight.”